


pull me under

by medusacascade22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Episode: s02e04 Abomination, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusacascade22/pseuds/medusacascade22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a nightmare. Derek comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull me under

**Author's Note:**

> title from "drowning" by avicii  
> set directly after s2e4: Abomination  
> warning for nightmares involving drowning?  
> many thanks to tehcrzy1 for fabulous editing  
> enjoy! ♥

 

 

 

He’s cold. It’s dark. All Stiles can see in any direction is water; calm, black, endless.

Stiles can’t feel his body, just a dull numbness radiating from where his limbs should be. He can’t help but try and kick blindly, trying to keep his head above the water. He succeeds, but barely, feels the water lick up his neck, towards his chin.

“Stiles! Stiles!” he hears, whips his head around to find the source. “Stiles!”

It’s Derek. The realization hits Stiles like a stone dropped down his throat and into his stomach. He starts moving immediately, searching, calling Derek’s name back, only to find that his voice is nothing more than a strained whisper.

“Stiles!” he hears again, and finally, finally Stiles spots him; just a tiny head bobbing in the distance.

Stiles moves as fast as he can, though the water becomes thicker with each inch of progress he makes. Upon getting closer, Stiles can see Derek thrashing, struggling to stay above the water. Stiles pushes himself faster still, anything he can do to get closer, to save him.

And then Derek is slipping, slipping away, nose level with the waterline, and Stiles stretches his hand out as far as he can, reaching for Derek. His fingertips almost touch Derek’s, but he’s too late, and Derek is gone.

 

Stiles wakes in a cold sweat, thrashing around in his bed and still screaming Derek’s name.

And then Derek is there, right in front of Stiles’ face, grabbing his shoulders and asking, “What? What’s wrong? What happened? Stiles, talk to me!”

Stiles can’t respond, too glad to see Derek, that he’s dry, he’s alive, he’s _here_. Stiles just sort of clings onto Derek, unable to do much else, and Derek somehow allows it, rubbing Stiles’ back just this side of too hard.

Stiles has never touched Derek like this before. Sure, he spent hours holding him up in a pool earlier today, but this is different. Derek is warm, solid, all-encompassing. Stiles can’t feel anything, smell anything, _think_ about anything but Derek.

“How are you here?” Stiles asks, puffing hot air onto Derek’s collarbone where his shirt has ridden low.

“I was… uh,” Derek starts. Stiles has never heard him hesitate before. “I was just… checking up on you,” Derek says, resignedly. “I was worried,” he adds, slightly softer.

On any other day, Stiles would snark him out, call him a teddy bear instead of the big bad wolf he pretends to be. But, well, Stiles _did_ need checking up on. He keeps his mouth shut, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply to soak up Derek’s scent.

Derek doesn’t say anything for a while, barely even moves. Stiles realizes that Derek must be monitoring his heartbeat, because once Stiles has calmed down enough that he thinks maybe he’ll get some more sleep tonight, Derek starts to pull away and says, “I can go, I mean, if you--”

“Stay,” Stiles says, so quiet it almost gets lost in his throat. He realizes how much he wants, _needs,_ Derek to stay once he’s said it. Stiles needs to know that Derek is safe, and there’s no safer place in Stiles’ mind than his bed. And, well, Stiles is pretty sure he’d have a panic attack if Derek left him alone, and that’s the last thing he needs tonight. He tightens his arms a little tighter around Derek to express this, as if Derek couldn’t break out of his grip in less than a second.

Derek shrugs Stiles’ face out from his neck and stares at him for a long moment, only slightly softer than his usual glare. Finally, he gives up, exhaling slowly. “Okay,” he says.

Stiles pulls Derek down to the bed with him, arms still locked around his waist. It’s sort of an awkward configuration, but Derek rearranges their limbs gently, seemingly content to serve as Stiles’ body pillow.

Once Stiles has settled, blankets pulled up to his chin and nose reburied in Derek’s neck, Derek starts trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ spine, and just like that, Stiles is sound asleep.

 

 

Stiles wakes up again with his face mashed into Derek’s shoulder. His left arm is trapped under Derek, feeling as asleep as Derek looks. Derek’s arm holds Stiles in a death grip against his chest, and Stiles can feel his breath against the top of his head.

Stiles glances down, sees that Derek ditched his jeans at some point during the night (which Stiles can’t blame him for, he’s sure it’s next to impossible to sleep in jeans as tight as your own skin,) and oh, look at that, Stiles has the world’s most massive morning wood.

Derek chooses this moment to grumble in his sleep and shift his leg forward, pressing his upper thigh against Stiles dick, and _fuck._

It’s not like Stiles hasn’t thought about this before; he has, at least once,  imagined having sex with basically everyone he’s ever met, and Derek a few more times than that. Okay, maybe many, many more times than that. He doesn’t fault himself; what else is he supposed to do when a smoking hot werewolf with possession issues shows up in his life when he’s at the height of puberty?  But he’s never imagined _this,_ and really has next to no clue what to do about it.

It turns out that isn’t a problem, because Derek shifts again, rubbing against Stiles’ dick, and then he fucking _moans,_ eyelids fluttering slightly,and Stiles is 99.9% sure that he’s going to die. If these are Stiles’ last moments on Earth, he figures that he might as well enjoy them, so he moves his hips minutely, getting the tiniest bit of friction against Derek.

Derek just moans again, low and dirty, so Stiles throws all the fucks he could possibly give out the window, grabs Derek’s hip, and starts thrusting in earnest. He estimates that he’ll get about three seconds of this before Derek fully wakes up and claws him to death, so he puts his all into it, biting his lip to hold back the moan building in his chest.

Maybe Stiles gets a little bit lost in it, thrusting into the V of Derek’s hip, because the next time Stiles looks up, Derek is staring at him, eyes blown wide. Stiles freezes for a moment, terrified out of his skin, which isn’t helped when Derek grabs the back of Stiles’ neck.

But then Derek is pulling Stiles closer, pressing their mouths together, and sliding his tongue between Stiles’ lips.

Stiles opens his mouth immediately, swallowing Derek’s moan. Derek kisses him surprisingly gently, like he doesn’t want to break Stiles, but that isn’t want Stiles wants. Stiles pushes for more, digging his nails into Derek’s bicep and hooking his leg over Derek’s waist. He can feel Derek’s hard dick pressing into his stomach now, which only fuels his mouth, gets him kissing Derek as dirtily as he possibly can.

Derek responds, giving back at least as good as he gets. Stiles starts to think they’re on even ground until Derek sneaks a hand between them and reaches into Stiles’ boxers. Stiles breaks away from Derek’s lips to gasp, because _holy fuck_ , where did Derek learn to do that with his wrist, and is he giving lessons? He’d ask, but he’s having trouble making thoughts other than _yesmorethatplease_ , which apparently he’s saying out loud, because Derek is grunting against Stiles’ throat, “Yeah? Like that? C’mon, God, _Stiles.”_

It’s an absolute miracle that Stiles doesn’t come right there. “Slow, slow down, just a sec, yeah, just— _”_ Stiles pants. Derek starts to look concerned but before his eyebrows can draw together all the way, Stiles is tugging Derek’s boxers down and getting his hand around him.

Derek throws his head back and gasps. Stiles is pretty sure his eyes flash red behind his eyelids. When Derek comes back, it’s to catch Stiles in a bruising kiss and move his hand again, somehow even better than before.

It’s all Stiles can do to try and keep up, trying to match Derek’s rhythm, kissing him back with as much energy as he can muster. It’s hard to focus on any one thing when it’s all almost too much; Derek’s hand stroking him hard and good, Derek’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, and the solid weight of Derek’s dick sliding in and out of his hand.

Stiles knew he wasn’t going to last long when Derek kissed him, but Derek surprises him by coming first. It’s only by about a nanosecond, but it counts. Derek lets out the filthiest moan of all time when he comes, a sound that Stiles is sure he’ll be replaying in his mind for the rest of his life, and it’s physically impossible for Stiles not to lose it right along with him.

Stiles doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Derek pulls him closer up against his neck, pets Stiles’ hair with his clean hand, and makes soothing noises at him.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks after a while, sounding genuinely concerned in a way that Stiles doesn’t want to hear ever again.

Stiles pulls away just enough to look Derek straight in the eyes when he says, “Never better.”

 

 

~fin

 

**Author's Note:**

> this has technically been my second ever venture into fan fiction about fiction. i feel like this is monumental. thanks for reading! comments are more than welcome! ♥


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